


La valse à mille temps

by symphorine



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Waltzing, and. uh. french
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 20:36:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8071885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/symphorine/pseuds/symphorine
Summary: A waltz is traditionally in triple time.Bokuto and Akaashi fall in love while they're dancing their very own.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fictionisthebetterreality](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionisthebetterreality/gifts).



> one of these days i'll write something actually short
> 
> many many thanks to amber for beta-ing this, which allowed me to edit while half asleep orz
> 
> the song referenced in both the fic and its title is [La valse à mille temps](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ovPwUihaVdE), by Jacques Brel (who is actually belgian, not french.) the literal translation would be 'the thousand times waltz'
> 
> there are like 2 sentences in french, and their meaning is fairly easy to guess in context, but there will be a translation at the end of the text ^^
> 
> enjoy!

**Premier temps/first time**

Akaashi was surprised to hear music already coming out of his usual studio. It was typically used for children dance classes later in the morning, but he was usually alone at this early hour, and he couldn't remember hearing of any special event being announced or prepared.

Akaashi tilted his head to the side and listened to the music intently – it was orchestral music, he noted, slow and soft in the quiet of the hour of sunrise. He approached silently and pushed the door just a few centimeters, careful not to make any noise.

There was a man in the room, dressed in tight black clothes with his back facing the door as he warmed up, stretching his broad shoulders. His laptop was open in front of him, in the same place Akaashi usually put his, right by the outlet and the speakers. He bent down and put his hands flat on the ground effortlessly, keeping the pose for a few seconds before standing up again, stretching one last time and turning towards the center of the room. He was sporting one of the most enthusiastic smiles Akaashi had ever seen, and it only seemed to widen as he raked his fingers through his messy hair, streaked with white and gray, and pulled it back, fixing it with a hairclip. Oblivious to Akaashi’s presence, the man flexed his shoulders and reassumed his starting position in front of the long wall of mirrors, right hand reaching high while the other hovered just an inch over his left leg, tense and pointed as if to trace a circle like a compass.

Akaashi knocked just as the song looped back on, and the guy almost fell, apparently not so graceful when taken by surprise. He blinked owlishly in the morning light, confused, and Akaashi sighed before offering him a hand.

"Hello, who are you?" the man asked him after getting back on his feet. He frowned and tilting his head to the side, the gesture only accentuated his resemblance to a bird.

"I'm Akaashi Keiji. I usually have this room reserved for myself," Akaashi explained, holding the other man's gaze.

"Oh! I wanted to meet you, actually." He grinned and shook Akaashi’s hand vigorously. "I just didn't think you'd come so early."

"Meet me?" Akaashi repeated, puzzled and a little lost, faced with so much unrestrained energy so early in the morning. "Why?"

"I'm Bokuto Koutarou," Bokuto presented himself. "I'm a new dancer and choreographer."

"Both?"

"Yeah, both. I usually don't dance on my own choreographies, though," he answered with a chuck. "Too hard to correct your own movements if there isn't somebody else to tell you what to do."

"Right." Akaashi finally took his hand back, and it felt strangely warm. "And you wanted to meet me in particular…because?"

"Because you're an amazing dancer!" Bokuto exclaimed. For a moment, Akaashi prepared for being tackled into a hug, but Bokuto apparently contained his excitement to himself. "I've seen videos of your performances in the last two years they're incredible! You could work on being less stiff sometimes, maybe, but you have great technique, great precision in your movements," he listed, counting on his fingers, "great posture, and a very strong sense of awareness of what other dancers are doing around you.."

"Thank you," Akaashi replied, eyeing him with curiosity. "But I still don't understand what it is you want to discuss."

"Oh, Akaashi," Bokuto Koutarou said as he sighed happily , throwing an arm around Akaashi’s shoulders. "We're going to do great things together."

* * *

 

They started that afternoon, in fact. Bokuto had gathered all his belongings and left the room free for Akaashi to use like he always did, and Akaashi executed his routine while keeping a nervous eye on this strange intruder, who was sitting in a corner. Bokuto had his eyes riveted to his laptop, a notebook spread open across his laps, its pages covered in scrawls Akaashi couldn't decipher. Akaashi had ran away as subtly as he could when he'd finished, hoping to get lunch alone at least.

When he came back, he found Bokuto encircled by the other dancers, a broad grin on his face as he was showing them something in his notebook. He was talking excitedly, almost yelling, gesturing with every word. Sarukui and Komi were slapping him on the back, yelling right back, and Konoha had a vaguely horrified expression on his face. Yukie patted him absently on the shoulder.

"Hey," Akaashi greeted them, stepping closer. "What's happening?"

"Corrections to the old choreography," Konoha informed him, both eyebrows raised very, very high. "I'm not really convinced," he added for Bokuto. "Some of this stuff looks impossible. Like, _physically impossible_."

"Nah, I'm sure you'll be able to do everything," Bokuto said dismissively.

"Let me see," Akaashi ordered. He wedged himself between Komi and Bokuto before turning the sketchbook towards him. He frowned as he contemplated it for a few minutes. There were schematics and arrows going wild, but he easily discerned parts of their usual show, the one they all knew by heart now.

"So?" Bokuto asked.

Akaashi was surprised to hear the anxious note in his voice. It pulled him back to reality and he blinked.

"I think this one," he said, pointing at a complex movement Bokuto had deconstructed on the page, "won't work. Otherwise, I don't see why we can't give it a try and see what sticks, I guess.”

"I hate you so much," Konoha said fervently.

"I'm sure," Akaashi replied, patting his shoulder the same way Yukie had.

Bokuto directed them for the rest of the afternoon, making them retrace the steps they'd learned so well that it was almost only muscle memory for them. He took notes, made them change only one move here and there for now, and clicked his tongue when it didn't translate in reality the way he'd thought. He would frown deeply, almost comically so, and grumble before scribbling in his notebook. He danced one full time with them, more hesitant than them since he was less familiar with the steps, but with a grace Akaashi had barely caught a glimpse of earlier that morning.

He let them go around six, waving them off with as much energy he'd greeted them with. Akaashi had no idea where it came from. He felt exhausted, drained, almost more than usual. Something about Bokuto kept him on alert, and Akaashi tried to figure out what it might be as he changed out of his sweaty clothes.

Bokuto strode in as he was pulling up his pants, and they were both shirtless, since for some reason, Bokuto had apparently deemed it necessary to shed his clothes as soon as possible. He gave Akaashi a blinding smile and came to sit beside him.

"You're kind of the leader, aren't you?" he asked without any preamble.

"By default," Akaashi answered with a shrug. "We had too many defections this year, and I’m the only one who’s a professional. You _should_ be the one to lead us soon enough."

"They respect you, though, all of them," Bokuto remarked, pensive. "It's not going to disappear just like that."

Akaashi slipped on his clean T-shirt and sighed.

"What is it you're trying to say?"

"I want you to help me," Bokuto said, "to get this troupe to a competitive level."

Akaashi froze.

"This is not what this dance company is about," he enunciated, slowly. "We don't have the means, or even the time."

"You can get funds," Bokuto pointed out, "and I can help get them. And it's not like you're all untalented, far from it, actually."

"Most of us have part-time jobs. We don't have the time to get to the level you're thinking of," Akaashi protested.

"That's why I'm tweaking something you already know! Alright, maybe more than tweaking," he admitted at Akaashi's snort, "but it's easier than learning something from scratch."

"And why would you even want us to compete? Is that why you came here?"

Akaashi really hoped not. They'd been looking for someone they could trust, someone who would stick with them, and if Bokuto was only here for his own goal---

"I have something to prove, I guess," Bokuto admitted in the most subdued voice Akaashi had heard all day from him. "But no, it wasn't my only motivation. I want the responsibility. I like working with groups, and this one is small enough that it still feels human. And of course," he added, grinning shamelessly, "when I saw how beautiful you were, I couldn't resist."

"Ha, ha," Akaashi said as he rolled his eyes. "Nice to know you're not here just for yourself, then."

"So what do you say? Do you think we can do it?"

Akaashi had no idea, at what point in time today, Bokuto had started to consider him a potential partner for leading the troupe, but he couldn't say it displeased him. He considered the offer a few more moments, mostly to make Bokuto sweat.

"Alright. We can try."

* * *

 

**Deuxième temps/second time**

Akaashi often came to the studio only to find Bokuto already there. They were both the only ones who had the time to devote to it – to the dances and their complex sequences of steps and position changes, and the infinite hours of practice they required. Which wasn’t to say the others didn’t practice, but they all had jobs or, in some cases, studies, to fill their time, and were there a lot less often.

That morning, however, Akaashi was the first to arrive. He didn’t worry; it had happened a few times since Bokuto had first irrupted in Akaashi’s life, and Bokuto would usually text him with a long apology and a promise of hot coffee picked up on his way. It never failed to make Akaashi smile in amusement.

Akaashi was grateful for the time alone in the studio, though. He liked Bokuto, he liked his fellow dancers, liked spending time with them – he loved dancing, repeating again and again until he got it perfectly – but he missed having the space to himself. It used to feel _his_ , in the solitary mornings, but now he was rarely alone. He wouldn’t chase Bokuto off, he never did, but he couldn’t help but feel relieved to have these few minutes to himself.

He changed and stepped onto the familiar floor, worn and polished by use and time, and began his usual routine. He set up his laptop with the speakers and then stretched, but when he was done, he found he didn’t feel like starting on Bokuto’s choreography without him there. Plus he hadn’t had much time to dance freely, on the music _he_ preferred.

Instead of selecting one of the songs he’d heard every day for the past weeks, he scrolled down further, until he found a song he hadn’t listened to in a long time.

“La valse à mille temps,” he read aloud, smiling as he pressed play.

The first notes swept him up immediately, bringing back fuzzy memories of hearing the song as a child, of dancing to it with his mother when she’d remarried, of waltzing alone in his apartment when it started to feel too lonely. He was alone now, too, but there were no furniture to stop his movement, and he let the music carry him across the room and back, and again. His eyes were half closed as his legs found the movements themselves, his body turning and turning again, always faster, in time with the quickening tempo, and he knew he was still smiling.

He wasn’t out of breath when the song was finished, but by the time the song ended, there was a pleasant warmth coursing through his veins.

“That’s the most beautiful waltz I’ve ever seen,” Bokuto commented from the doorway.

Akaashi abruptly opened his eyes, but his smile didn’t drop as he met Bokuto’s eyes.

“You must not have seen many, then,” he replied. He was dancing alone, in an empty studio, without caring, for once, for the rules dictating his movements. He doubted there had been anything beautiful there.

“Maybe.” Boktuo shrugged. “I’ve never have the occasion. Never even learned how to dance it. But I still mean what I said.” He looked at Akaashi, biting his lips like he wanted to add something, then let out a small sigh and help up Akaashi’s coffee. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

He sipped at it for a while, and Bokuto set up his own equipment. He didn’t forget the battered notebook Akaashi never saw him without, and carefully noted some idea he must have gotten on the way there. Akaashi hid his smile behind his cup. It was endearing, somehow, to see Bokuto, his hair down – as it always was when he was late – focused like a schoolboy on his own scribbles, sitting there in only a tight T-shirt and leggings. He looked at ease, slipping into Akaashi’s rhythm without a hitch.

“You alright?”

“What?” Akaashi replied, blinking quickly.

“You’ve been staring at me for a good minute,” Bokuto explained, his face oddly red.

“Sorry. Just thinking,” Akaashi said.

“Oh, speaking of thinking, can you help me with this?” Bokuto asked, waving his notebook, where Akaashi could see lines upon lines and rough drawings, all crisscrossed in blue ink. “I think I’ve got it almost figured out, but you’re better at visualizing stuff.”

“I’m coming,” Akaashi said, making a detour to the trashcan in a corner before coming to sit beside Bokuto.

He was always warm, Akaashi noted. Not just in the sense that he never wore long sleeves or anything even remotely appropriate for the cold season, but in the way that whenever Akaashi was near him, Bokuto felt warm. It was comforting, maybe a little _too much_.

They sat and talked in hushed tones, almost like they didn't dare let their voice trouble the quiet of the studioAkaashi couldn't help but discreetly stretch his hands and feet as he listened to Bokuto explain the last few changes he wanted to make. He wasn't usually one to fidget, but he felt a little restless, interrupted in his workout. Bokuto was vibrating with energy too, but directing his excitement to his long-winded, passionate explanations. Akaashi listened without complaint, but without sugar-coating his objections either. Some of Bokuto's ideas were simply unrealistic, and Akaashi couldn't help but wonder what kind of people he'd worked with before to think this was the norm.

They got around trying the moves, eventually, but Akaashi was alone to demonstrate, and as good as he was, it didn't replace the whole group. Bokuto joined him for a few moves, smiling at him as they moved together, perfectly synchronized.

He leaned in at the end of the song, inches away from Akaashi. Once again, he could feel Bokuto's warmth on his own skin, and he didn't move away, didn't feel the need to. Bokuto stayed there, his smile dropping slowly as he realized Akaashi was looking at him just as intently as he was looking at Akaashi..

The next song started and startled them out of the moment. Bokuto's cheeks were tinted with pink. He spluttered through his next words, turning away, and Akaashi was free to let his lips curl up in a smile, if only for just for a second.

* * *

 

**Troisième temps/third time**

Their first performance of the new Bokuto-version of their routine was at their usual venue – a western-style stone building almost hidden between ordinary houses, known mostly to the regulars. It paid well, though, which was good for Akaashi, since he didn't really have another job.

His mother came, of course – she came to every show she could, and it was rare that she didn't make it. He barely had the time to greet her before they were on stage, but she was waiting for him after, when he was exhausted and sweaty and mostly happy with the way they'd performed. Konoha, despite all his grumbling, had adapted to everything perfectly, as had the others, though there obviously had been a few missteps or wavering.

He was congratulating everyone, sounding way more energetic than Akaashi felt. Then again, he hadn't danced. Akaashi was sure he wanted to, but they always needed someone to direct them, and he was that person. His friends filed out of backstage, changed into clean and formal clothes for the reception that was given after. They had to attend, at least for half an hour and the speech, and then they usually made polite excuses and left to rest. Most of them had work the next day – Komi was on opening shift.

He let his mother recount the show to him, point out all her favorite moments – there were always a lot. Akaashi made acknowledging noises at the right moments. He hadn't changed yet, and he was longing for a shower, but his mother would only let him go if she had someone else to talk to. Or talk at, depending on how you saw it.

Akaashi saw his salvation arrive in the form of Bokuto, eyes searching around the hallway. His face lit up when they fell on him, and he walked up to them.

“Hello, I’m Bokuto Koutarou, I helped with the choreography of tonight’s show,” he introduced himself. He had a vigorous handshake, and Akaashi worried for a split second for his mother’s wrist.

“Oh, Keiji talked about you,” she replied. “I’m his mother, Akaashi Naoko. It’s very nice to meet you!” she giggled, in that oddly flirty way old women had.

Akaashi resisted the urge to roll his eyes and took that as his cue to get back to the backstage, patting Bokuto on the shoulder in compassion before he left. He only heard the first few words of their conversation, but he had no doubt that the two chatterboxes would keep themselves entertained while he would be gone.

There were a few shower stalls in the back. They were narrow and smelled faintly of rust, but he stepped under one of the shower heads with relief. Unfortunately, the water turned cold pretty fast, and he got out shivering and swearing a string of french curses, courtesy of his mother. She was fluent in french, after growing up there, a result of Akaashi’s grandfather’s work, and never really watched her mouth around her children. Before she'd ever gotten around making him learn proper french, he'd known most of the common swear words and insults.

He dressed up quickly, struggling with his shirt before giving up on the last button. He put everything away in his bag, not bothering to do it neatly, and finally stepped out, leaving the show behind and ready to stand through the obligatory speech.

As he'd thought, Bokuto and his mother were deep in conversation, their hands flying between them as they talked animatedly. At that volume, you could probably hear them clearly from the other end of the hallway.

"Can you take that for me, please?" Akaashi asked his mother, holding up his bag.

"You can leave it at the reception yourself," she pointed out, taking it nonetheless.

"Yes, but Bokuto and I need to be with the others to be presented and thanked in – two minutes," he countered, taking Bokuto's wrist in his hand to pull him behind. "I'll catch you later!"

" _À tout à l'heure!_ " his mother called behind them.

"She's nice," Bokuto observed as they made their way to the crowd to reach the stage.

"I knew you'd like each other," Akaashi sighed, taking his place in the lineup.

Amused, Bokuto asks, "What's that tone supposed to mean?"

Akaashi was interrupted as the lights suddenly flickered off, , a single projector focusing on all of them. He heard Komi mutter under his breath next to him, and guessed more than he saw the battle between Konoha and Sarukui for the space to stand. They always did this.

Akaashi took a deep breath and let Bokuto's wrist go. This was their last duty of the night, and then they could go home.

* * *

 

He got through the ceremony fighting to keep his eyes open, and even more since he was so close to Bokuto’s comforting warmth. This was becoming a problem, honestly. But Bokuto also provided him with a million little smirks and snorts during the speeches, so he guessed it wasn't so bad. He was practically dreaming of his bed by the end, and almost fell into Bokuto when he got down from the stage. Bokuto caught him effortlessly with a laugh and didn't let him go. He waved goodbye to the other dancers making their way to the exit and followed Akaashi towards the latter’s mother.

“Are you feeling alright, honey?” she asked, reaching for Akaashi’s face.

“Fine,” Akaashi answered. “I just need to sleep.”

“Then maybe you should let this gentleman take you home,” she said, nodding toward Bokuto.

Akaashi opened his mouth, but he was too surprised to answer. He felt Bokuto tense up beside him, already backing out, but he recovered fast enough to grab Bokuto’s sleeve and keep him in place.

“I thought you wanted to spend time with me?”

“We can do that another day,” his mother said with a shrug. “I don’t live that far away, though with how little you come visit me, I could be fooled.”

Akaashi grimaced, but she hadn’t said it with any real bitterness. Bokuto looked between them, still unsure.

“Er, you don’t mind me taking you home?” Bokuto asked.

“I want to stay here a little more, anyway,” Akaashi’s mother chirped. “I trust he’ll be alright with you, _n’est-ce pas chéri_ ,” she added for Akaashi.

Ah. He’d been less subtle than he’d thought when talking about Bokuto, then. She rarely ever talked french anymore if there was someone else with them, only to make a point. He huffed but nodded, and she seemed very happy to be obeyed.

“You boys have fun. I trust we’ll see each other again, Bokuto. Maybe my son will bring you home for dinner,” she smiled.

Okay, she was pushing it. Akaashi scowled, and her smile widened, but she finally left them, reminding Akaashi that she’d left his bag for him at the reception. Akaashi led on soon they were outside the building. Bokuto had been uncharacteristically silent, and he seemed lost in thoughts when Akaashi glanced at him. If he had to guess, it was probably because of his mother’s words, but it was really too late to be shy about their flirting.

They took Bokuto’s car – Akaashi had walked to come. He didn’t live far, but he had to admit it was nice not to have to walk back. He didn’t say a word during the ride either. Something in the air felt strange, and his heart was beating a fraction of second too fast. He felt wide awake.

Bokuto stopped in front of the building and Akaashi got out slowly, quietly. He kept the door open, waiting for – something, anything. Bokuto finally cleared his throat, but his voice was dull, far away.

“See you on Wednesday, then,” he said.

Akaashi still didn’t close the door.

“Actually, do you want to come up for a bit?”

This startled Bokuto out of his mood, and he opened his eyes wide, surprised.

“Uh. Uh, yeah, yes!” he exclaimed, scrambling to get out like he was scared Akaashi would change his mind.

Akaashi finally shut the door, and Bokuto locked it before falling in step beside him; he was nervously chewing on his lips, but at least he seemed closer to his usual self then he’d been in the car. They took the elevator to the sixth floor, and Akaashi led Bokuto to his apartment, at the end of the hallway. Bokuto was still fidgeting next to him.

“Don’t forget to take off your shoes,” Akaashi reminded him.

It was small, three rooms that felt a little cramped at times, but he’d been here for years now, and it showed. It felt warm and lived in, and the view wasn’t too bad, since there weren’t any other tall buildings surrounding his.

Bokuto let out a low whistle and turned on himself, admiring the walls. They were covered in pictures; photos, paintings, and some drawings from Akaashi’s niece. He’d never liked the color of the wallpaper, and done his best to cover it.

Then Bokuto noticed his record player, sitting on a small table on the other side of the room, under a shelf, and forgot his strange mood completely, almost running to it.

"Wow, I've never had one! That's so cool!" he marveled, visibly hesitating to touch it.

Akaashi put his bag down and made his way to the kitchen to retrieve two mugs.

"Do you want something to drink? I have coffee, tea, or hot chocolate, if you want," he listed as he got out the milk and chocolate powder.

"Herbal tea, if you have," Bokuto answered, still fascinated by the record player. "Anything stronger and I might not sleep at all."

Akaashi didn't comment, just put water to boil and fetched a tea bag from his cupboard. It didn't take long to prepare both drinks, and by the time he joined Bokuto, he had shifted his focus to the books lining up on one shelf. Most of them were books he'd had to buy for college and got attached to. Some were novels – detective stories, mostly.

"Here," he said, giving Bokuto his hot tea.

“Thank you,” Boktuo hummed, and he took a few gulps, even though Akaashi was pretty sure he was burning his own tongue. He himself sipped at his own drink more slowly. Bokuto's eyes flittered back to the player periodically.

"Do you want to play something?" Akaashi finally asked.

"If it doesn’t bother you. I heard one play rock, one time," Bokuto recounted. "Old school. I never managed to find one again. My parents never really cared for–" He stopped himself abruptly, pinching his lips together. It was a foreign expression on his face."Your parents?" Akaashi prompted him.

Bokuto looked at him, hard to read for once, but Akaashi waited. Eventually, he looked away and drank a bit of his tea before speaking up again.

"They never really approved of my passion for dancing. They never cared much for art that wasn't something they could hang on the walls to show off, and the most interest they've ever shown in music was to go to see an opera. I was barely allowed to buy CDs, let alone something like that," he says, nodding at the record player.

"When you said you had something to prove…"

"Not to them," Bokuto cut him off. "I used to, but not anymore. It's more for myself." He grinned. "I mean, they're behind it, in a way, but I don't care anymore what they think."

He was more relaxed now that he'd finished his explanation, and they talked about something else, eventually moving to sit on the floor, around the table. Akaashi didn't look at the time, counting instead the seconds between Bokuto's breaths, the minutes of comfortable silence.

"You said you wanted to play something on it," Akaashi brought up again, pointing at the record player. "I've got a few vinyl discs, if you want to choose."

"I trust you to choose something good," Bokuto said with a smile. .

Akaashi shrugged and got up. Bokuto turned to keep him in sight, and he opened the cabinet under the player, skimming through his records. He wasn't sure what to choose, wasn't even really certain if Bokuto preferred a genre over another. Finally, he settled on something at random.

Bokuto perked up at the first notes.

"It's the waltz, right? The song you were dancing to the other day."

"Yeah," Akaashi replied as Brel started to sing.

The little cracklings from the player definitely fit with the old-timey feeling from the song, and Akaashi found himself trying not to sway in time. Bokuto was focused on the song, tapping the quickening rhythm on the table.

"You know, I think I told you," he started when the song was over, "but I never learned to dance it. Even though it could have passed as something respectable, my parents never let me."

"Do you want to?" Akaashi proposed almost immediately.

He hadn't intended for the question to sound so charged, but it didn't seem to bother Bokuto. He rose, both of their empty mugs forgotten on the table, and stepped closer to Akaashi.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

There was no more hesitation, only a challenge in Bokuto's eyes. Akaashi smiled and showed Bokuto how to place his feet and his legs. He caught on fast, used to much quicker and more complicated steps. Then Akaashi put Bokuto's hands on him, and Bokuto got quiet.

"I'll lead, since I'm more experimented," Akaashi said.

"I learn pretty fast," Bokuto replied with a grin.

Akaashi didn't answer. The song started again.

They turned slowly, at first, both so Bokuto could get used to the steps and so they couldn't bump into any furniture, but as the rhythm became faster, they spun faster too, until all that existed was them, their eyes locked and feet moving together on Akaashi's floor. The music carried them around the apartment, allowing for a quick detour in the kitchen before they were whisked back into the main room, and they turned and turned and turned on themselves and around the table.

Akaashi heard the end of the song coming and he slipped his hand further down Bokuto's back, dipping him low on the last note. Bokuto was experienced enough that he followed the movement without a hitch, but a surprised gasp escaped his lips. He looked delighted when he stood up again, and when Akaashi tried to pull away, Bokuto held him close, his hand firm yet gentle at Akaashi’s waist. Akaashi stayed.

They were nose to nose, close for no other reason than that they wanted to be. Bokuto’s cheeks were an amusing shade of red, but his hand was still holding onto Akaashi's. The song started again, but neither of them paid much attention.

Bokuto closed the gap between them, and he kissed Akaashi softly. And despite knowing – knowing that it was coming – Akaashi felt Bokuto's warmth spread through his whole body. He inhaled for a second in surprise, and Bokuto pulled back, but Akaashi chased him and they kissed again, more firmly this time, as the waltz kept playing for them.

**Author's Note:**

> à tout à l'heure = see you later
> 
> n'est-ce pas chéri = isn't that right honey


End file.
